


Kissing Boo-Boos (Kisses Make Me Part of You)

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Time, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-16
Updated: 2010-11-16
Packaged: 2018-09-03 09:06:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8706286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: My kisses make me part of you to make you stronger. So it won't hurt as bad.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

Kissing Boo-Boos (Kisses Make Me Part of You)

 

Dean is seven and Sammy is three, and it's been almost three years since That Day. When Dean is seven and Sammy is three, Sammy falls off the couch and hits his little shoulder hard against the corner of the coffee table and Dean freezes. 

 

It's kind of his fault because he had been standing on the couch first (for no real reason, except it was kind of cool to be tall and they didn't let him stand on things in school) and Sammy had squealed "me too!" and clambered up next to his big brother. They had bounced like the kids that had a trampoline next door (Dean really wanted to have a trampoline, but Dad said no and wouldn't let him go next door to use that trampoline). Dean had thrown his legs out mid-air and landed on his butt, like he had seen the kids next door, except it had hurt and he didn't bounce back up, which is what the kids next door did. His fall had knocked Sammy sprawling across the couch and Dean hit his tailbone on something so hard that tears had sprung in his eyes. But Sammy didn't know that and he had started giggling uncontrollably at his big brother's antics. Dean had grinned goofily, pain forgotten, and stood back up, encouraging Sammy to jump with him. 

 

"Again, again!" Sammy chanted and Dean thought he must have been crazy to do the not-so-great trick again but he was a sucker for making Sammy laugh so he did it. He landed a little better this time and the vibration made Sammy fall like he was supposed to-except Sammy fell off the couch, tumbling into the coffee table with a bang and then onto the floor with a sickening thud. Dean froze as he watched Sammy's tiny little body collapse in on itself.

 

Dean froze until Sammy screamed. 

 

And then he moved so fast he didn't quite remember how he got to his little brother's side. Sammy was curled up on the floor, a hand on his shoulder, sobbing into the dirty carpet. 

 

Dean's own small hands hovered over his brother, not touching him because he was terrified that he would somehow make Sammy worse because Sammy hadn't cried this loud since he was a baby. Dean was suddenly so angry his own tears burned like fire behind his eyes. Sammy was really hurt and Dad wasn't here. What the hell was Dean supposed to do? 

 

"Deee!" Sammy wailed, begging for him and Dean felt assured that at least Sammy didn't blame him (though Dean should have known better!). Sammy's call was all he needed and Dean scooped up his boneless, shivering brother and cradled him in his arms, rocking back and forth. 

 

"Shh, Sammy. Calm down, I've got you. It's OK now." Dean mumbled the same thing he does when Sammy runs to him during a thunderstorm. 

 

"H-hurts." Sam hiccups, his voice hoarse and wheezy. 

 

"I know, let me see. It's OK, I've got you, I'll make it better." He promises as he jostles and lifts the trembling toddler onto the couch. In the new position Dean can already see a little bit of blood on Sammy's light-blue t-shirt and Dean knows that he has to keep Sammy's attention away from it or else he'll panic. 

 

Sammy is hiccupping, trying desperately not to cry hard like he wants to. "Did you hit your head, Sammy? Does your head hurt?" Dean asks, remembering how when Sammy was a baby and Mom put Sammy in Dean's arms and said "mind Sammy's head, Dean". 

 

Sammy shakes his head, brown, glossy curls flying about his face. "Here." Sammy mumbles and starts reaching for his shoulder but Dean holds his hand instead. 

 

"OK. Hold still for a second. It's going to be OK."

 

"Hurts." Sammy whispers again, his eyes wide, tears still flowing and Dean feels like something is breaking inside of him his chest hurts so bad. He'll have to figure it out later because Sammy comes first. 

 

"I know, Sammy. I know it does. But I'm going to make it better."

 

Tears are still falling, Sammy's still shaking, eyes are still red, but Sammy takes a deep breath and nods at his big brother. "OK. Make it better." He whimpers softly. 

 

Dean flies to the first aid kit, knowing that he should probably move slower so that he wouldn't startle Sammy or make him worry, but Dean's panicking and all he can hear is the bang of his brother's little body against the corner of the coffee table. 

 

When he gets back Sammy's watching him with wide, fearful eyes. He's still crying, his face scrunched up as he lets out whimpers and whines and muffled, pleading "Deee"s. 

 

"Don't cry." Dean begged as he opens the kit and tries to remember everything that Dad taught him about it. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to let you fall. Don't cry, Sammy."

 

Sammy's breath hitches and Dean feels his heart beat in time with Sammy's tiny little wheezes. "Kaayy." Sam tries to agree but it breaks off into another sob. "Dean!" He tries to hold out his arms for Dean to hold him but the movement sparks the pain in his shoulder and he falls into another round of crying. 

 

"Don't cry!" Dean insists and reaches out and holds Sammy's little hot, sweaty hand in his. "It's OK. I'm gonna make it better, Sammy. Trust me?" 

 

Sammy snuffled and gripped Dean's fingers. "Trus' you." And then Sammy made a brave effort to stop crying. 

 

"I'll take care of you, Sammy." Dean promises again. "I gotta take your shirt off so I can see and make it better." Sammy nods and Dean starts to gently ease Sammy out of his shirt. The uninjured arm goes just fine. He plays Peek-a-Boo with the extra material to make Sammy smile and he does through big, watery eyes and a splotchy cheeks. 

 

When Dean finally pulls off the shirt he tries hard not to make a face at the darkening bruise and the torn skin. At least the cut had already stopped bleeding. "It doesn't look so bad." Dean lies because it has to hurt really, really bad. When Sammy tries to look for himself Dean uses his arms to block Sammy's view of the injury. He looks up at Sammy. "It doesn't hurt so bad, does it?" He asks, trying to get Sammy to be brave. 

 

Sammy says "no" but his head frantically nods "yes". 

 

Dean's trying to remember everything Dad taught him about taking care of injuries. He needs to clean the broken skin first, so he grabs the peroxide and a cotton ball and gently dabs it on Sammy's shoulder to clean off the blood. Sammy inhales sharply and shifts. 

 

"Does it sting?" Dean asked and blows on it before Sammy can answer. Peroxide didn't sting as bad as alcohol, but sometimes it did. As Sammy shakes his head "no" and then nods "yes" and then quickly shakes his head "no" again Dean reaches for the Neosporin, trying not to laugh at his little brother's antics. He gets a q-tip and softly spreads the ointment over broken skin. He has to use a big band-aid to cover the scrape. 

 

"Still hurts." Sammy whispers. He's not crying anymore but there are dried tear tracks on his red, chubby cheeks. 

 

"I know. You got a bad bruise." Dean says softly and reaches for the children's Tylenol, of which he gives Sammy a dose. "That'll make you feel a little better in a few minutes." He promises. 

 

"'Kay, D'n." Sammy's voice rattles in his chest as big, heavy-lidded eyes watch his big brother put away the first aid kit. Dean sets it aside and crawls onto the couch and sits on his knees in front of Sammy. "Feeling better?" 

 

Sammy shook his head miserably, not looking Dean in the eyes. "Hurts. Sorry, De." His cheeks flushed with embarrassment and shame. 

 

Dean frowned, wishing he could help Sammy. After all, it was Dean's fault that Sammy had gotten hurt. Dean thought about the parents he had seen at the school playground, and how when their kids fell down and cried they always "kissed their boo-boos". 

 

Dad never kissed Dean's boo-boos-he rubbed alcohol or peroxide on them instead. But if Dean thought really, really hard he could sometimes remember how Mom would kiss his forehead and then kiss the scrapes on his knees, or the bumps and bruises on his elbows. "I'll kiss it better." She used to say. 

 

"I'll kiss it better." Dean says suddenly and feels so stupid and silly for saying it. Dad never said stuff like that to Dean, and always told Dean to "buck up, boys don't cry". But he can't bring himself to say that to Sammy. 

 

Sammy's wedged himself in the corner of the couch and he's still trembling some. It occurs to Dean that the fall had probably scared Sammy, too. His little brother looks up at Dean with a quivering bottom lip and furrowed brows. "Kiss it bedder? How?" 

 

"Well, like this." Dean says and leans down and kisses the band-aid on Sammy's shoulder with a loud smack. Sammy giggles. "See? Is it better?" Dean asks urgently and Sammy frowns. 

 

"No." He whispers and Dean's shoulders slump. "How is kiss su'pose ta make it bedder?" Sammy asks doubtfully and Dean frowns because how is a little kiss supposed to make boo-boos better? 

 

"Well." Dean mumbles, trying to think. "Well, a kiss makes me part of you." He explains but Sammy just wrinkles his nose in confusion. "If I kiss you, I give your some of me to make you stronger. So it won't hurt as bad." 

 

Sammy's small, upturned nose is still crinkled as he nods, unsure. Gradually, his look falls into one of awe and admiration. He looks hard at Dean, pleadingly. "Try again, De. Kiss it better?" 

 

Dean smiles and kisses Sammy's boo-boo. When he leans back Sammy's got this goofy grin on his face. "Feel better?" Dean asks again. 

 

"Lots." Sammy confirms seriously. Dean smiles and reaches for the tattered blanket that's behind him and wraps Sammy up tight tight in it instead of trying to fit another shirt of his sore shoulder. He helps Sammy lay down, his back against the couch and then Dean lays down, too, carefully holding Sammy against him. 

 

"Let's not jump on the couch anymore, Sammy." Dean says softly, apologetically. 

 

"Was fun." Sammy says but nods his head in agreement. "Thanks, De." 

 

"It's OK now." Dean promises.

 

***

 

Sammy's eight and Dean's twelve and it's been eight years since That Day and two months since Sammy found out What Dad Does. Dad still hasn't taught Sammy to shoot, or even showed him how to work the guns, like Dad showed Dean when he was eight. Dean has been thinking of showing Sammy himself because Dad seemed to be leaving them more and more and he wanted to make sure Sammy could take care of himself. 

 

They had just switched schools again. Sammy was in elementary school and he seemed to like it alright but Dean was in middle school and he hated it. Dean hadn't really hit a growth spurt-Dad said that he would in the next couple of years-but he had big hands and feet that made him a little clumsy and knobby knees and elbows that he knocked into everything. Dad had forgotten to buy them clothes again and last month Dean had used some of his own saved money to buy Sammy a new jacket after some jerk stole it at their last school (seriously, kids these days, Dean thought). So Dean had only three outfits that he could wear to school, and one shirt was badly stained and so he wore his oversized leather jacket on those days. The kids had quickly picked up on his repetitive wardrobe. Somehow they also found out that Dean was a year behind-which he couldn't have helped because Dad had gotten too hurt and sick two years ago and Dean had to stay home from school a lot to help him. And then the teacher wouldn't help catch up with all the classes he missed, especially English and reading which he sucked at anyway, and he was pulled back. 

 

Dean had been going to his new school for two weeks and bullies were dogging his steps for a week now. They didn't scare him. Dad has been showing Dean how to defend himself for three years now. But it was embarrassing to be made fun of because of his clothes and his clumsiness. They called him stupid because he was a year older than all of them. 

 

Dean didn't want to bring up the bullying to Dad. He was too ashamed because Dad had taught him not to care about what anyone thinks about him and not to be scared of others. But he did kind of want at least one more set of clothes. 

 

"Dad?" He asked one night after he tucked Sammy in to bed. Dad had a bunch of papers spread out on the table, his journal open, and a bottle of Jack Daniels at his elbow. 

 

"Yeah, Dean? Sammy OK?" Dad asked gruffly without looking up. 

 

Dean licked his lips. "Yeah, Dad. Sammy's OK. You working on something?"

 

"Yeah, dude. Think it's a berserker two states over. It's killing a lot of people, and I need to get back to work." Dad said a little apologetically, glancing up quickly. "Do you need something, Dean?"

 

Dean didn't need clothes. And at least Sammy had a new jacket now. And Dad was really busy saving people. "No, Sir. Goodnight, Dad."

 

"Night, Dean-o." Dad smiled before returning to his work. 

 

The elementary school and middle school were really on the same property, only separated by a couple of soccer fields. Traffic was a bitch-even for pedestrians trying to cross the road in the face of cranky moms behind vans and SUVs. Their house was closer if they cut across school grounds, through the smattering of skinny trees that lined the property, and past three cloned suburbia neighborhoods and into the bad side of town (which wasn't really the bad side of town, just close to it) where their shack of a house stood (or leaned). 

 

After school Dean quickly slipped out of the building-forgoing his locker and the homework in there in preference of getting the hell out of there and in eluding three of the worst bullies that had ribbed him in front of the entire cafeteria at lunch because he hadn't had a lunch or money to buy one. It had been his fault. Dad had been gone for a couple of days and wasn't due back for a couple more and Dean had forgotten to go to the store yesterday and so all of the food left in the house he had given to Sammy for lunch and had forgotten to grab some money out of the jar for his own. 

 

It was cold and the dark clouds overhead were threatening to break open. Dean had picked up Sammy and was leading him across the grounds, holding the kid's hand because Sammy liked to chat about his day and look up at Dean and not look where he was going. Sammy stumbled again and Dean kept him upright with a pull of his arm. 

 

"Watch where you're going, Sammy." Dean snaps. 

 

"-And then I got a better grade than Joe on the math test and I was picked before him in kickball-" Sammy kept on, not even acknowledging Dean's reprimand, causing the older boy to roll his eyes. 

 

They had just gotten behind the school and were about to set out on the grounds when they heard footsteps and laughter behind them. Dean whirled around, shoving Sammy behind him, who he could hear bite down on an indignant "Dean!" when he saw the serious look on his big brother's face. 

 

Three of the assholes that had been giving Dean shit all week-Dean didn't even really know their names, maybe Shaggy, Freddy, and Johnny?-were standing shoulder to shoulder behind them like some midget version of The Westside Story (which Dean knew about from English class two schools ago, but really wished he didn't know about).

 

"What's the matter, Winchester? You left so fast, made us think that maybe you don't like us." Freddy (Shaggy? Georges?) mock-pouted at him. Dean rolled his eyes. School was out, they were out of the sight of teachers, and Dean could finally stand up to them and kick their asses. He felt Sammy breathe behind him and frowned, remembering that he couldn't let this get out of hand because he had to keep Sammy safe. 

 

"I'm kinda flattered you guys know my name when I can't even remember yours." Dean said with a cocky smirk. 

 

Johnny (Tony?)-the one on the right-didn't like that too much. He scowled darkly and Dean saw his eyes flash to Sammy. He stepped forward and the other two followed and soon Sammy and Dean were surrounded. 

 

"This your little boyfriend, Winchester?" Johnny taunted with a sneer, stepping forward and pushing Sammy in the shoulder. Sammy lost his balance and fell into Dean but Dean hardly noticed because in a flash he had turned and laid out the Johnny-kid hard. The other two were on him and while he pushed away one the other landed a glancing blow across Dean's temple that was quickly followed by a harder more accurate crash of knuckles against Dean's cheekbone and the bridge of his nose. Pain ignited in the sensitive spot, making his eye well and his head ring. Dean snarled and turned, about to meet yet another punch-this one aimed at his stomach-when Sammy appeared out of nowhere and leapt onto Freddy's back with a "leave Dean alone, you stupid jerk!" 

 

"Sammy!" Dean cried, fear pulling hard at his stomach as his little brother entered the fray. However, the one he had pushed was advancing behind him again and Dean spun away from the tackle. He grabbed Shaggy's jacket as he ran past and pulled him back. Shaggy (or Georges, possibly) tottered off-balance and that's when Dean shoved his elbow into the guy's stomach, which he followed up with a hard hit across Shaggy's mouth. He hit the ground conscious but crying and didn't move to get up. 

 

"Sammy!" Dean cried again, whirling to find his little brother...

 

...who was sitting on top of Freddy's chest and rifling through the sobbing kid's pockets. "Look, De!" Sammy chirped delightedly. "Snickers! Your favorite!" He waved the bar around for emphasis. 

 

Dean laughed in giddy relief even though his head and eye throbbed and helped Sammy up. "It's your favorite." He corrected as they picked up their discarded bags.

 

"So can I have it?"

 

"Yeah, Sammy."

 

"Sweet!"

 

Dean took a second to kick Johnny in the leg as they left-it was what he got for thinking he could push Sammy around. He reached for Sammy's hand but was met with a sticky wad of half a Snickers bar. "Gross, Sammy." Dean laughed but stuffed it in his mouth anyway, licking his hand before grabbing Sammy's hand. 

 

"Ew, Dean!" Sammy laughed around a mouthful of candy but didn't let go of his brother's hand.

 

By the time they reached the skinny trees it had started to drizzle and Dean's head was pounding. It had been the first time he had been clocked in the face this hard, and where he was hit was painful. His sinuses felt swollen and by the time they passed the first neighborhood he couldn't breathe through his nose. By the time they passed the second neighborhood it was easier to keep the injured eye closed. He had a pounding headache and somewhere along the way Sammy must have realized this because he had stopped talking and gripped Dean's hand harder, almost guiding the older boy. 

 

After the second time Sammy offered to take Dean's bag, Dean snapped harshly at him. "No. Just shut up, Sam." It was raining heavy now and the wind had picked up. 

 

Sammy shut up and Dean felt slightly guilty, but he was angry enough about allowing himself to get hit in the first place, and he didn't want to add injury to insult by appearing weak in front of his little brother. 

 

When they got home they shed their bags and stripped out of their soaked clothes down to their underwear. Sammy pushed Dean to the shower, where Dean took his time under the hot spray. When he got out there was a set of sweats and a t-shirt on the counter for him. He wiped his hand through the fogged mirror and inspected his face which was already turning a deep blue and purple. His eyelid and the top of his nose was swollen, an angry red line streaking where the knuckles had actually landed. He tried to touch it but winced. His head still throbbed. 

 

When Dean stepped out of the bathroom the warm, delicious scent of food in the oven embraced him and made his stomach growl viciously. With his head rolling and crashing like a storm, he eased his way into the kitchen. Sammy was at the stove, dressed in sweats but not a shirt, so skinny and bony and young that his ribs and shoulders jutted out at the slightest movement. He looked up at Dean's arrival and grinned. 

 

"Did it all by myself." Sammy declares proudly but softly, still aware of Dean's headache. 

 

Dean tries to smile but it turns into a wince when the play of muscles bothers the bruising. Sammy nodded to the kitchen counter, where a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin waited for him. The cap of the aspirin was open with two tablets in it. He took the medicine and shuffled to the table. 

 

Before he could sit down, Sammy interrupted. "Why don't you just sit on the couch? I'll bring it to you. Pigs 'n a blanket and mac and cheese." 

 

"Sounds fucking awesome." Dean mumbles. It was one of their favorite meals and he hadn't had lunch anyway. 

 

Predictably, Sammy giggles at Dean's cursing and it's kind of cute (in a not-girly way) to see his little brother still so innocent even though he found out What Dad Does two months ago. 

 

It's only a few minutes after Dean's settled and found Back to the Future on TV when Sammy comes balancing a plate and drink. The pigs in a blanket isn't quite done-the bread is still a little doughy, and the mac and cheese is a little chewy, but it's the first time Sammy cooked a meal completely by himself and his little brother is trying to take care of him. Plus, it's hot and it's filling Dean's empty stomach and he wasn't picky. 

 

Dean bolts down the food in record time and lies back a little on the couch. He's trying to doze, trying not to acknowledge just how much his face hurts because if he does then somehow those bullies from earlier would win. He doesn't really hear Sammy move, but all of a sudden Sammy's tapping his shoulder to wake him up and all of the plates are cleared and Sammy's holding an ice pack. 

 

Dean groans. "Dude, don't wanna ice pack." 

 

"You know it'll help." Sammy reprimanded gently and Dean spared a glare for his little brother's tone. Ice would help with the swelling, and Dean needed to keep it on as much as possible this weekend if he didn't want the swelling and bruising to be really bad by Monday. On the one hand because he didn't want to give those three Westside Story bullies the satisfaction, also because Dad wasn't here and Dean didn't need to be causing enough teacher suspicion to elicit a phone call home. 

 

"Fine." Dean grouses without any real bite to it and reaches out to snatch the ice pack but Sammy holds his hand up to stop him. "What now?" Dean whines.

 

Sammy smiles and steps up close and leans in. Dean blinks stupidly (which hurts his face) and thinks about trying to sink deeper and away from Sammy and demand just what the hell the little squirt thinks he's doing. Before he can, however, soft lips place a kiss just below where the corner of Dean's eye and the top of his nose meets. Dean blinks again and feels his eyelashes drag across Sammy's skin. 

 

Sammy leans back and softly eases the ice pace on the bruise. "What was that for?" Dean croaks but he can't deny that Sammy's attention makes him feel warm and special like he hasn't really felt since Mom was alive. 

 

"Kissing it better." Sammy answers simply with a grin. 

 

"What good does that do?" Dean wanted to ask Do I look like a baby? Or When did you turn into a girl, Samantha? Or even Do I need to worry about cooties? Instead he asks What good does that do? Which was totally stupid because he already knew the answer. 

 

"Kisses make me part of you." Sammy recites clearly. "So you can be stronger." 

 

Dean can't think of anything to say to that except, "thanks, Sammy." 

 

***

 

Sammy's fourteen and Dean's eighteen and it's been fourteen years since That Day, six years since Sammy found out What Dad Does, two years since Dean's first hunt, and it's supposed to be another two years until Sammy's first hunt. 

 

But it's not happening that way. 

 

Sammy's laid out across the back bench seat-across Dean's lap-of the Impala. Dean's frantically trying to keep Sammy's body from jostling too much as Dad hits 85 mph on the curvy back road. 

 

"Dean!" Dad snaps from the front. 

 

"Pulse is the same. Breathing more labored. Still bleeding." Dean rattled off his report and is kind of amazed at how calm he sounds despite the hot tears running down his cheeks and the warm blood and cooling body beneath his hands. 

 

"It's going to be OK, Dean." Dad says but his voice is the high-pitched sound right before breaking and Dean squeezes his eyes shut and wishes he could squeeze his ears shut because if Dad loses it then Dean will lose it because that will mean that there's no hope and Sammy's going to die. 

 

"How far?" 

 

"Keep pressure on the wound, Dean."

 

Which one? Dean wants to scream hysterically but he doesn't because it might scare Sammy. 

 

They had gone into the remote woods prepared for both a wendigo and a werewolf. The lunar pattern fit for a werewolf but the location was perfect for a wendigo and the bodies were disappearing, not showing up mauled without hearts. Dad had wanted another hunter in case it was a wendigo-they were by far one of the smartest and fastest monsters out there to hunt. However, they hadn't had time to wait for back-up because the wendigo was due to go back into hibernation any day now. Dean was a strong hunter who had tracked things in the woods before, so they had both set out armed with silver and flare guns, leaving Sammy behind in the Impala with a blanket, pillow, flashlight, his dog-eared copy of The Outsiders, and his own silver knife and flare gun-just in case. 

 

Dad and Dean trekked around the woods all night. The creature-a wendigo, they had decided-had played with them a couple of times. Darting around them, one time mimicking a man's voice to try and lure them into a trap, but with dawn approaching they hadn't even caught a glimpse of the thing. They had decided to go back to Sammy and the Impala, go grab something to eat and return. Since they knew it was a wendigo, they would have better luck during the day anyway. 

 

Dean will never forget the smell as they approached the area where they had parked the Impala. It was a sickening, cloying smell-like someone was burning rotten leaves. Burning! The fire was unmistakably close to where they had left Sammy and Dean and Dad both broke out into a frantic sprint, screaming out Sammy's name. 

 

When they cleared the dense trees they saw the remains of the wendigo-already charred and dead with the flames still licking at the corpse. The Impala door was open, the window broken with glass glistening on the ground where it caught the dawn light. 

 

"Sam!" Dad had called gruffly and he and Dean had split ways-Dad circling the front of the car as Dean started to circle around the back. 

 

Dean had been the one to find Sammy. He was on his back, trembling, seizing, bleeding out behind the Impala. The trunk was open and it was obvious Sammy had been trying to get to the first aid kit. The blanket they had left behind was clumsily wrapped around his body in an effort to stop the bleeding, but it was too loose and blood soaked. 

 

Dean remembered he hadn't so much as screamed for Dad as he had just screamed uncontrollably.

 

Now the sun beat down on them and it was loud in the Impala because of the broken window and Dean was trying not to think about anything because he was afraid he would scream again. 

 

"De. D'n." The choked gasp was soft but Dean heard it anyway. 

 

"Sammy?" Dean croaked. 

 

"Dean!" Dad called fearfully from the front. 

 

"He's trying to talk!" Dean reassured Dad who let out a desperate praise. "Sammy?" Dean tried again, frantically searching Sammy's bloody, pale, and dirty face. Hazel eyes peek dazedly from beneath heavy lids, catching the sun and glittering with life. 

 

"S-a-am. S'm." Sammy gasps out, his throat bobbing with the effort and a little bit of blood slips down the corner of his mouth. 

 

"I'll call you Sammy if I want to." Dean insists, trying to sound snappish, hoping to create normalcy because maybe it would make Sammy alright again. 

 

"S'ry. W'n-dow." Sammy goes on and he's blinking slower now, taking longer to open his eyes again after each blink. 

 

"It's alright, Sammy." Dean says and clenches his jaw when his voice breaks. 

 

"P'lled me out. S'ry." Sammy says and Dean can only surmise that the wendigo had broken the window and pulled Sammy out of it by surprise which would explain the tiny cuts along Sammy's face and neck. Though Dean can't be too sure and right now he doesn't fucking care. 

 

"It's alright." He repeats. "We'll get it fixed. But look at you. You ganked your first monster, Sammy." 

 

"Wed-i'o." Sammy slurs. "Ge 'im?" 

 

"Yeah, you got it, Sammy. It's not going to hurt anyone else. You killed your first monster two years before I killed mine. I'm jealous, Sammy." 

 

Sammy's eyes are closed but he starts to smile and then big, shuddering coughs take him. Dean can feel Sammy's muscles convulse, spasm, cramp up and crush the fragile chest and ribs as he tries to get a breath. 

 

"Come on, Sammy. Breathe through it. Don't panic." Dean pleads, wanting to rub Sammy's chest like he does whenever Sammy gets a chest cold but he can't because Sammy's chest is in shreds so all he can do is coach Sammy through it even though the kid probably can't even really hear or understand him. 

 

Finally, Sammy's stopped but his eyes are closed and he's not moving. His pulse is a beat slower than it was ten minutes ago. 

 

"Dean?" Dad whispers from the front, but the open window drowns him out. "Dean?" He calls louder. 

 

"Alive. Pulse a little slower. Breathing slower." Dean reports and he's openly sobbing now. 

 

"You have to pull it together, Dean." Dad commands as they careen down the ramp and onto the interstate. "If Sammy sees or hears you he'll panic. It'll be too much for him, Dean. Eight more minutes and we'll be at the exit. Ten minutes until we're at the hospital." Dad's talking loudly and firmly, walking Dean through what's going to happen. "You have to wait until we get Sammy there. Please, Dean. I need you to hold off until we get Sammy there." 

 

Dad never says please. 

 

"Yes, Sir." Dean agrees whenever he's caught his breath. Dad doesn't respond but the growl of the engine escalates and the Impala jerks beneath them as Dad presses down harder on the accelerator. 

 

"D'n?" Sammy wheezes. 

 

"It's going to be OK, Sammy. I've got you. We're almost there. You're going to be OK, Sammy." Dean rambles desperately. 

 

"D'n." Sammy says again, only one eye temporarily blinking open before closing again. "'iss i' bedr." 

 

So Dean crunches down and kisses Sammy on the forehead-presses his lips against the blood, the sweat, the ash, and the dirt. And when they get to the hospital and they get Sammy patched up (because they will) Dean swears that he's going to kiss every one of Sammy's boo-boos and not even be embarrassed by it. 

 

Anything to let Sammy know that Dean's there and he's going to fix everything. Anything to make Sammy stronger.

 

***

 

Sammy's seventeen and Dean's twenty-one and it'll be seventeen years since That Day in three months, it's been nine years since Sammy found out What Dad Does, it's been five years since Dean's first hunt, three years since Sammy's first hunt (three years since the time Dean almost lost Sammy), and a year since What Dad Does became The Family Business. 

 

They are in the middle of bumfuck, Texas, squatting in a vacant ranch house. Even though it's summer Dad's gone on a hunt without them. Dean was only bummed out over it for a few days because while he really liked hunting he also liked doing nothing. He also liked quiet, which he got when Dad and Sammy were separated and Dean kind of preferred Sammy's company over Dad's gruff, business-like, intense presence anyway. 

 

Dean's lounging on the porch swing that he and Sammy had fixed on their first night here and watching Sammy work behind a pair of sunglasses. The steps to the porch were broken and while Dean doesn't really care about that Sammy's been on a fix-it streak since the porch swing so he's dicking around with boards, nails, hammers, and screw drivers. 

 

So Dean's enjoying the show (fucking TV only has antennae and picks up about three channels but at least whoever owns the house is just gone on vacation or something because they have power and running water). 

 

Sammy hasn't really been Sammy for about two years now. He'll always be Sammy-Dean's little brother with chubby cheeks, curly brown hair and big eyes who's afraid of thunderstorms and clowns but likes chocolate milkshakes and Thundercats-but that Sammy is tucked away somewhere inside Sam nowadays. 

 

Sam is seventeen and tall, right at Dean's height and still growing. Hunting and training had helped Sam zip past the awkward body stage. He was still gangly but muscles made him more solid and in control of his body than some of the other tall teenagers who had bony shoulders and wildly clumsy appendages. Chubby cheeks had thinned to reveal sharp and high cheekbones. He had a long, lean torso and strong, shapely legs. All of which Dean had a good view of seeing as Sam was working on the porch without a shirt and in an old pair of jeans he had cut up to make shorts. Sam was also barefoot and had dropped a hammer on his foot earlier-causing Dean to cackle and Sam to curse. 

 

Dean's also shirtless because it's too fucking hot in the middle of the afternoon to wear one. He's in jeans, though, because he's way too awesome and cool for shorts. He's wearing sunglasses partly because it's bright outside, partly because he knows it'll make Sam laugh, and mostly because he can look at the curve of Sam's spine that disappears in the waistband of his shorts, the slope of his long neck, and the swell of his calves. Under this guise Dean would be ogling Sam's ass except for the shorts are really baggy and don't give away much. Dean can use his imagination.

 

He also could be angsting about the fact that he's lusting after his little brother but he's been there, done that about six months ago so now he's just enjoying the view. Besides, after the initial realization that Dean not only wants to love Sammy and protect him forever (which he's always wanted) but he also kind of wants to tap that ass while he's at it, Dean actually didn't freak out too much. Sam is Dean's entire world, his life, and Dean will never ever love anyone else the way he loves Sam. He's not going to tell Sam that Dean wants to have gay incest sex with him because Sam has an actual Moral Code whereas Dean has a Moral Guideline and gay incest sex might be a no-no in Sam's Moral Code-Dean wouldn't know because it's not written down so he can read it (and even if it was he probably wouldn't read it). Besides, Dean is perfectly content with whatever Sam gives him and he doesn't want to keep Sam from finding someone else out there that would make him happy. 

 

Dean supposes that that makes his love for Sam unconditional love. Dean also thinks that maybe it's time to back off on all of the Oprah (though it's about the only thing they get on the shitty TV here, along with soap operas which might also be part of Dean's problem).

 

He's just admiring Sam's hipbone which is peeking out of his waistband as he steps onto the porch towards the tool box and thinking about renting Terminator tonight to counteract all of the damage inflicted on him by daytime TV when Sam loses his balance on the edge of the porch, windmills frantically as he wobbles precariously, and falls backwards off of the porch with a surprised squawk.

 

It's kind of his duty as a big brother, so Dean's up and out of the swing and standing on the edge of the porch and pointing and laughing at Sam in about a second flat. 

 

Sam landed on his side and there's a breath of red dust surrounding him where he disturbed it in his fall. He groans and rolls on his back, wincing up into the afternoon sun, a sheen of sweat breaking onto his forehead. Dean stops laughing. 

 

"Shit." Dean grouses and jumps down. "You alright?" 

 

"Shoulder." Sam whines and Dean sighs, lifts the sunglasses off of his eyes and tosses them to the side as he kneels down next to Sam. Dean starts prodding gently at Sam's left shoulder, immediately determining that it wasn't dislocated. 

 

"Does it still hurt?" Dean asks with a frown.

 

"Yeah. Maybe just bruised it." 

 

"You big baby." Dean says with an affectionate eye roll and moves to stand up. A long and thin hand grabs him around the wrist, keeping him from moving. Dean looks down and Sam's eyes are wide open and looking right through everything Dean is. He swallows hard at the heat in his little brother's eyes. 

 

"Maybe if you kiss it better." Sam whispers and it's something Sammy would say but Sam's eyes are anything but innocent because he doesn't so much as crack a smirk. "Please, De." He pleads. 

 

It's not in Dean to deny Sam anything so he crunches down and kisses the layer of dust and sweat that lies softly on Sam's brown sugar skin. He presses his lips to Sam for only a second and pulls back, licking the taste from his chapped lips. "Better now?" He croaks and Sam nods, his too-long hair flared around his head. 

 

Dean doesn't move, he's a little too preoccupied with the way Sam's looking at him, and after a few moments Sam reaches up and points to his temple. "Think I hit it when I fell. It hurts." He whispers. 

 

"It's OK." Dean says out of habit. "I'll kiss it better." And this time when he kisses the soft skin the smell of Sam's hair fills his nose and he closes his eyes. He leans back and his knees are starting to hurt (because he's old at twenty-one) but he doesn't care. 

 

"How is a kiss supposed to make it better?" Sam asks and he hasn't let go of Dean's wrist yet. 

 

"A kiss makes me part of you." Dean answers dutifully. Sam nods again and slowly points to his lips. 

 

"I think I bit them." His voice is as dry and soft as the dust dancing around them, his eyes wide and face vulnerable, a little unsure. 

 

Dean never wants Sam to look that way around him so without thinking about it because he did all of his thinking months ago and apparently Sam had, too, Dean leans forward and kisses his little brother on the lips. He stays unmoving against the satin smooth skin before he pulls back. His dick, which had been aching and stirring almost without notice, hardens at the sight of Sam's heavy, drooping eyelids. 

 

"Better?" His wrecked voice sounds like it shouldn't belong to him. 

 

"Need a little more of you." Dean's lower belly tightens at the words. "I think I bit my tongue. Kiss it better?" Sam's pink tongue slowly peeks out from between his lips and he holds it out, waiting. 

 

Dean leans down and kisses the tip of Sam's tongue, the wet texture of it tickling his lips. He slips Sam's tongue into his mouth and starts to suck gently on it, twirling his own tongue around the tip before caressing the underside. Sam shudders but Dean ony knows that because his eyes are open, watching Sam's eyes which are still open and studying Dean. 

 

Suddenly it's not enough to just see Sam but Dean has to touch his little brother, too. He straddles Sam's narrow hips and his groan matches Sam's when they find evidence of each other's arousal. He places one hand next to Sam's head and rests the other one above Sam's heart and starts sucking on the tongue in his mouth hard to the beat of Sam's heart. 

 

Soon Sam starts to withdraw his tongue, luring Dean into his mouth where Dean licks to map it out. They alternate lazy exploration of each other's mouths to hard battle with each other's tongue. Dean can't decide whether to keep his eyes open or close. He closes them, lost in the sweetness of Sam's mouth, the warm life of his body beneath him, in his little brother's whimpers and moans. And then he stubbornly opens his eyes so that he can see Sam's face, how his lashes brush his cheeks, how he's flushing with arousal and rolling his body in ecstasy. 

 

They roll once until Sam's on top of Dean. The dust puffs and dances about them and they're utterly exposed out in the Texas sun. They're both sweating from heat and arousal and it becomes easy to slip and slide against each other. Dean grasps Sam's ass and rolls his hips down hard and long into Dean's cock. Sam gasps softly into Dean's mouth as the pressure is both relieving and heady at the same time. 

 

They grind so hard it hurts and bruises their oversensitive flesh, but they don't stop, Dean doesn't stop, because he can't get enough, he can't reach deep enough into Sam. 

 

"Throat hurts." Sam says into Dean's mouth, the kiss it better unspoken, and that's all Dean needs before he's kissing, mouthing, nipping, biting the beautiful slope and dip of Sam's throat and neck. They roll again, the dust flies, Sam moans loud, and the sun beats down hard on Dean's back. He finds Sam's mouth again and tucks his arms beneath Sam's back and lifts so that they're sitting and then standing. They stumble over and somehow make it onto the porch without the broken steps and without breaking apart. The shade is an immediate and cool relief on their skin. 

 

They roll again and Sam's on top of Dean kissing and biting just behind Dean's ear. The sensation makes his vision and his stomach shudder, expand, and tighten so that his whole world is the feeling of Sam's mouth behind his ear. When Sam starts to move to Dean's mouth again Dean stops him. 

 

"It hurts." 

 

Sam raises an eyebrow, his face the perfect picture of no more of this nonsense let's get back to the kissing, moron. Dean smirks slightly and moves his hand to palm his dick. "Kiss it better?" 

 

Sam's stunned only for a second before he breaks into a grin. He presses his forehead into Dean's chest and laughs into Dean's sternum and Dean's pretty sure that it's Sam's laughter that keeps his heart beating. "You're not allowed to use that pick up line on anyone else but me." Sam declares and starts licking a trail down along the fine, golden hairs from Dean's navel to the waistband of his pants. Long fingers fumbled with the buttons and eased down the zipper and worked his dick until the head was freed from his boxers. Sam leaned down and kissed it softly, not moving, and suddenly it was way too fucking much. Dean shoots up and grabs the blankets off of the swing that were folded to serve as cushions. He unfolded them and stacked them for extra padding and then rolled a slightly stunned Sam onto them. 

 

"Out here?" Sam croaked as Dean pinned him down and caged him in with his body. 

 

"Didn't bother you earlier." He said before kissing Sam again because he's pretty sure he's not alive unless he's kissing Sam-in the most manly way possible. 

 

"No." Sam agrees and mouths at Dean's jaw. Dean's working Sam's shorts in the meantime and when he's got them undone he eases Sam's dick out of his boxers then digs a hand under his brother's ass and manhandles him until there's enough room to yank the offending material off and toss it aside. Sam's laughing again, just lying back and watching Dean wrestle with the clothes, dimples digging deep into his cheeks. Dean can't resist and before he even gets a good look (and, God, does he want to look) he leans up and delves his tongue into the crevice of the right dimple. 

 

Dean counts it as a victory when Sam's laughter breaks into a loud moan. 

 

He returns his attention to the new skin, taking in the sharp 'v' of Sam's hips and groin, his strong thighs, the fluttering of muscles in his lower stomach, and his long dick that is flushed bright red and smearing pre-come across his belly. Dean groans at the sight, itching to touch Sam so he did. Sam was heavy, hot velvet in his hand and when he touched and started to stroke Sam cried out and writhed. 

 

Dean's breath left him in a rush and he groans, rolling his hips but meeting no real friction. "God, you're so beautiful, Sammy." 

 

"Please, Dean. Need more." Sam moaned as he started to buck up and fuck himself in Dean's hand. Dean was lost in the spectacle for a moment, in the sight of his little brother's dick fucking in and out of his fist. Dazedly, he looks up and sees that Sam's cheeks are flushed with arousal, his swollen and slick lips parted to let quick pants pass through them. He's looking at Dean so intensely, so damned needy-

 

"Please, De. Please Dean. Need you in me so bad. Waited so long. God, please, want you part of me. Please." Sam begs and holy fucking shit that goes straight to Dean's cock and he's too hard and he just might come right now if Sam doesn't stop begging him so nicely. 

 

Dean leans over Sam's mouth again and eats the pleas, swallows them down. When he leans back Sam's hazel eyes are practically delirious. "Shh. I got you, Sammy." 

 

"Please, Dean. Want your cock inside me so bad." Sam's voice sounds so broken and Dean grips himself painfully hard to hold back his orgasm. 

 

"Sammy?" Dean wants, needs to be in Sam so bad he doesn't think he'll breathe again until he does. But this is so new-shouldn't they do a couple of awkward hand-jobs, gag through a couple of blow-jobs, do a little bit of fingering, and (oh, God, please say it isn't so) talk about this first? Except Dean's batted for both sides already, and Sam had a boyfriend he was pretty involved with last year and a couple of girlfriends before that so at least there wouldn't be much actually awkward about the hand-jobs and blow-jobs. But still. 

 

Before he can go on Sam looks at him, his eyes widening out of their drooped, hazed lust. The look that Sam gives him is so still, so there, that it makes Dean stop all movement. "Dean." Sam says between wheezing pants. "You know me." 

 

"All your life, fucking better than anyone else ever will." Dean answers automatically and Sam doesn't break his still gaze but a smile tugs on the corners of his lips. 

 

"Exactly. You really want to meet up for coffee and buy my drink and popcorn at a movie before we get to the good part?" Sam asks between puffs of air and Dean gives the dick in his hands a hard pull and twist because Sam should not be coherent enough to give him that kind of lip. Sam's hips stutters and Dean sees the muscles in Sam's body contract and then melt, watches as Sam throws his head back and squeezes his eyes shut. 

 

Sam did have a point, though. "You know me." Dean parrots, kind of amazed and a little relieved that someone loved him, cared about him so much that they knew him inside and out. 

 

Sam might have garbled out an answer, but he was obviously too far gone to stay with Dean in his Profound Thought Moment. "Dean, please." Sam's hands pull and grip at the blankets desperately and Dean realizes that Sam is completely at his mercy and loves it. 

 

"What do you want, Sam?" Dean asks and forgoes Sam's cock in favor of leaning forward to fuck his tongue into Sam's delicious mouth. He drags a finger through Sam's pre-come and swipes it across Sam's bottom lip where they both lap it up, the thick slick sliding along their tongues. Sam's hands dig into Dean's head, gripping his hair, kneading his hands into Dean's scalp as Sam bucks frantically underneath him. 

 

"Please, Dean. Please. Want to see all of you. I want your cock in me. I want to feel you. Want you to kiss me when I come." 

 

The last demand is specific but it's so perfect (and Dean's about to blow, anyway, just looking at how fucking beautiful Sam is laid out burning hot like the Texas afternoon) Dean decides not to dwell on it. "God, you beg so nice." The praises spill from his lips as he dives in for another kiss from lips that heavy and plump. "So fucking perfect." He leans back, trailing his hand down Sam's belly, brushing over his cock but not staying. "Fuck, lube." Dean grumbles because it's all the way in the house, upstairs in his room and he's not doing this with Sam without it. 

 

"P-Pocket." Sam whispers and Dean's eye widen as he finds a tube in Sam's discarded shorts. 

 

"You little bitch. You planned this." Dean says in awe and his hips jerk as he thinks of the implications. 

 

"Jerk. Maybe I did." Sam laughs breathily. "Wanna see you first, De." Dean's quick to comply, shucking off his open jeans and underwear and kneels between Sam's legs. Sam leans up on and elbow and reaches out with his other arms. Sam's first touch of Dean's cock are soft touch-and-goes, beating lightly against his flesh like butterfly wings or a humming bird's pulse. Sam has a look of fascination on his face, his eyes are wide as he wraps Dean's thick cock in his hand, unwraps his fingers as if unsure, and then wraps them again in a firmer grip. Red stings Sam's cheekbones and it's the first real sign of embarrassment. It's been a miracle that things have been so easy up until now, and Dean's wondering if Sam is having second thoughts, if maybe all of this (this being the gay sex thing, not so much the gay incest sex thing) was new to Sam after all. 

 

"Sammy-" He starts to say that they don't have to do this, starts to put his hand over Sam's to guide him. But suddenly Sam's stroking firm and sure and his moans match Dean's. 

 

"Can't fucking believe you're here." And Dean gets the hesitation because Dean feels that way too. It feels like this has been forever in coming but Dean had only dreamed of this actually happening. 

 

Dean means to say always been right here, bitch but it comes out, "I will always be here, Sammy." God, his mouth is such a traitor. Sam leans up further, his abs quivering as he takes his weight off of his elbow and reaches up, cupping Dean's hand and bringing him down to crash their lips together. 

 

"Now, Sammy." Dean pleads and gently pries Sam's hand from his dick. "Can't hold on, gotta be now." 

 

"God, yes. Please, Dean. Need your cock in me so fucking bad." And, hello, they've got to explore this dirty talk Sam does because it's fucking hot. A simultaneous wave of desire and joy sweeps through him as he realizes that there's going to be a next time and a time after that and a time after that. 

 

Dean helps Sam to maneuver his shaky body onto his hands and knees, ass presented high in the air for Dean. Neither Dean nor Sam's too happy that they can't see each other's faces, but at least Dean's got this spectacular view of the brown planes of Sam's back, quivering thighs, and of course his pert ass. 

 

Dean kisses the knob at the base of Sam's spine while he rubs and kneads Sam's cheeks. He uses his knees to knock Sam's legs further apart, spreading him wide for Dean. 

 

"Next time I'm gonna lick you open." Dean husks out and laps at Sam's crack for emphasis. Sam groans and shudders and Dean pulls at Sam's cock, gathering the pre-come there on his fingers and starts slicking the rim of Sam's hole with them. The muscle flutters beneath his touch-Dean leans back so he can see it twitch. His vision narrows and he leans down and bites lightly into the soft skin of Sam's ass to try and stop from coming too early. 

 

"Want to taste your cock." Sam's voice is so strained, whiskey-deep, and rocky that it's hardly even Sam's voice. "I want to lick you and suck you down so deep-all the way in. Want you to ride my mouth next time, De." 

 

For a moment Dean sees white and he's afraid he's lost control too soon. But when he regains his bearings he's still painfully hard. So, OK, no more dirty talk and promises for Next Time. Dean couldn't help it. He loved hearing Sammy's voice. "Gonna give you what you want." He promises as he picks up the lube and drizzles it liberally over Sam's hole before pouring some on his fingers. He licks and kisses Sam's back as he eases one finger in. 

 

It turns out that Dean didn't have to worry about not hearing Sam because the kid is letting out these beautiful whimpers, moans, and cries. He repeats Dean's name like it's the New Lord's Prayer, he says "yes" and then he says "not enough, more". 

 

Finally, Dean's slicking up his own dick and positioning the head, breathing harshly, he's never been so turned on, he's never wanted so deeply before. He pushes forward and damn it Sam's so tight and hot, clenching around him and he doesn't think he'll even fit. Sam gasps and the slow burn and Dean rubs his hips and thighs soothingly before he reaches and strokes Sam's dick while he places kisses on his back, trying to distract him. "It's OK, Sammy. I've got you. I'm here." And kisses it better all along Sam's skin. 

 

When Dean inches past the tight ring of muscles and into Sam's scorching, velvet heat Dean lets out a shattered moan that starts somewhere in the bottom of his stomach and scratches his throat raw on the way out. It feels so good, so right, but the pressure is too tight and Dean squeezes his eyes. Sam groans and grunts and goes only a little soft beneath Dean's fingers so he strokes faster and lets his thumb play with Sam's slit. Dean eases in until he's fully sheathed and all that's in Dean's world is Sam, the fire in his lower regions, and the delicious vice around his cock. 

 

It's hard but he stays still until he feels Sam relax around him. "Now, Dean. God, please, please, please move."

 

Dean pulls back an inch and rolls his hips experimentally. Sam's still hot and tight but his channel is starting to give and work with Dean. Sam's begging so hard he isn't even speaking a coherent language anymore. Dean starts some shallow thrusts, just to make sure Sam's ready, and also because he pretty much adores the desperate filth that spills from Sam's lips. "God, what are you fucking waiting for? Dean, please, harder, faster, something. Fuck!" 

 

Dean groans and speeds up his shallow thrusts, thinking that in one of the Next Times he should see if he could come from Sam's rough, deep, fucked out voice alone. That image was quickly replaced with one in which he makes Sam come just by fucking into him, see if he could make Sam lose it without even touching his cock. The image had Dean shoving hard and deep into Sam, raking over his little brother's prostate, causing Sam to cry out so loud Dean's pretty sure they hear him in Mexico. 

 

His thrusts slow down but become deeper and harder and Sam's whole body jerks with each drive. Sam can't hold himself up anymore and collapses from his hands to his elbows, lifting his ass up higher and the both moan at the changed angle. "So beautiful. God. So perfect. Fuck. And you're fucking mine, Sammy."

 

Sam's delirious (which is OK because Dean's also pretty much lost all sense of being and reality-who wouldn't when they're fucking Sam Winchester and oh my God no one gets to have this with Sam ever again other than Dean) and he's trying hard to remember to meet Dean's thrusts and clench around him at the right times. Dean doesn't care, though, because he can see Sam falling apart even though he can't see his face, and Dean pushes in even harder, trying to get all of himself in Sam-trying to pull Sam into Dean. 

 

At some point Dean realizes that they're fucking (making love)-wild, loud, and fierce-on a porch outside in the sweltering Texas heat. He looks down and can see where his dick disappears inside of Sam's body and he feels his balls draw up impossibly tighter. He grits his teeth and digs his fingers into Sam's hips, trying desperately to hold on. He starts battering Sam's prostrate on almost every thrust, and joins his hand over Sam's that's clumsily pulling and twisting at his impossibly hard cock. 

 

With a glass-cut sob and a raw jolt, Sam comes undone and releases long into their joined hands. Blearily, Dean remembers to kiss Sam as he comes and he leans down to kiss his little brother's salty-sweet back just as Sam's searing ass clenches around his cock. He had known that his orgasm was near but it still blindsides him with how sudden and consuming it is. He's pretty sure his vision goes, he's not sure because all that he can feel, smell, touch-all that is-is Sam. He mashes his lips into Sam's skin, forgetting to breathe but refusing to stop kissing Sam as he comes. 

 

As Sam comes down his muscles continue to twitch and contract, milking Dean and pulling him further inside. Dean moves shallowly, riding through his release, enjoying it but unwilling to let it fade. 

 

It does fade, however, and he can feel Sam's and his own body trembling ready to collapse so he carefully and slowly pulls out, the lube and come and sweat making his passage enticingly slick and warm. The air outside his hot and heavy, but Dean shivers as a slight breeze hits his sensitive cock. 

 

Dean gets transfixed watching beads of white drizzle out of Sam's loose hole. Dazedly, he reaches and swipes the come, pushing it back into Sam, loving the idea that Sam's stuffed so full of him he's overflowing. Some of the sticky mess remains on his thumb so when they collapse facing each other on the hard wood cushioned only by a couple of ratty stacked blankets Dean wipes white come on Sam's bottom lip and dives in for a kiss. 

 

Sam whimpers into his mouth and Dean moans in answer because he hadn't kissed Sam in a short while and he had missed it. 

 

When they pull apart Dean gets a good look at Sam. His cheeks are still red and he's so sweaty that his hair hangs in damp curls around his temples. He looks so relaxed and peaceful, so happy without even smiling that Dean swears that he's going to put that look on Sam's face every fucking day if he can. Sam's studying him just as intently beneath sleepy lids and Dean kisses each lid and wraps his little brother up tight into his arms until they're so tangled that Dean doesn't know where he ends and Sam begins and that's perfect and all he's ever wanted.

 

When he leans back Sam's eyes are closed. His lips are plump and red from kisses and Dean can't help but lick at them. "Sammy?" He asks and he's supposed to be asking do we have to talk about this? Or do you regret it? Or please never ever leave me? Or you don't sleep right after sex every time, do you? But he just says, "Sam." 

 

"Ass is gonna hurt when we wake up." Sam whispers and Dean reaches up to stroke his fingers through silky, sweat-damp hair. Dean frowns because Sam might be serious and Dean hadn't meant to hurt him and oh God. But when he glances down he sees one corner of Sam's mouth lifted in a smirk and one eye opened a slit so hazel glitters up at him. 

 

Dean remembers what he wants to do the First Next Time and smirks, too. "Guess I'll just have to kiss it better." He chuckles softly, and brushes his lips across Sam's sweaty temple. 

 

"What good will kisses do?" Sam mumbles sleepily into his skin. 

 

Dean's supposed to say kisses make me part of you. And he wants to add so that I can make you stronger, I can make you braver, I can make you live, and I can make you love me. Dean also wants to say your kisses make you part of me so that I can exist. 

 

But that's kind of girly. And besides, Sam knows Dean.


End file.
